


The Wives of River Song

by Tilion



Series: Lesbians in Space [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/F, I need to stop adding tags, POV The Doctor (Doctor Who), Pre-Episode: s12e01 Spyfall Part 1, Pre-Season/Series 12, partially anyway, river song is badass, thirteen is smitten all over again, wlw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:48:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22537276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tilion/pseuds/Tilion
Summary: While investigating a suspicious children’s daycare, the Doctor runs into a familiar face.
Relationships: The Doctor/River Song, Thirteenth Doctor/River Song
Series: Lesbians in Space [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1627654
Comments: 62
Kudos: 403





	1. Weird? Weird.

**Author's Note:**

> Pre-season 12.  
> Lowkey based off “The Husbands of River Song,” but with 13 instead of 12.

“The TARDIS can go anywhere in time and space.” Graham crossed his arms, frowning.“We’ve been to alien planets. We met Yaz’s gran. We met _Rosa bloody Parks_. We’ve been on adventures I could never imagine.”

“Yup,” replied the Doctor cheerfully, popping the ‘p’.

“And you want us to visit . . . a nursery.”

“Yup.” She popped the ‘p’ again.

“In _Cardiff_.”

“Yup.”

His gray eyebrows furrowed. “Why?”

“I don’t get it either,” said Ryan, from the other side of the TARDIS.

“Me neither,” Yaz chimed in.

The Doctor fiddled with the TARDIS console, her agile hands flying over its colorful buttons and metal handles. “Not just any nursery, Graham. The TARDIS is receiving some _very_ strange signals from those exact coordinates. And by very strange, I mean _very strange._ As in, almost as strange as _me."_

Ryan looked over her shoulder, but was met by nothing but undecipherable squiggles. Not any kind of signal he knew how to read. "Do you think it's aliens?" 

"When is it _not_ aliens?" Yaz pointed out.

"You never know. It might be just a bit of technological installation gone wrong." The Doctor grinned as she pulled a lever, the the familiar sound of dematerialization echoed through the TARDIS. "But I'm willing to bet it's not. Ready to go check it out, gang?"

Ryan grimaced. "Only if you stop calling us _gang."_

"Seconded," Graham added.

"Sorry, gang. I'm committed," the Doctor declared, and threw open the TARDIS door. 

They were met with blinding sunshine, streaming down from a cloudless, shimmering blue sky. The laughter and whoops of small children filled the air. They'd landed just outside some sort of playground, behind a thin wire fence.

"Looks normal to me." Graham stepped out of the TARDIS, squinting in the bright light.

"Personally, I never trust anything that looks normal," the Doctor said briskly. "It's usually a Dalek in disguise. Now then!" She set off, skirting around the fence towards a rainbow-painted gate. Above it stretched a sign reading "SUNSHINE CHILDREN'S NURSERY!!!!"

The Doctor wrinkled her nose. "I don't know about you, but anything with more than two exclamation points is just plain dodgy." She pulled out her sonic screwdriver, buzzed the lock, and swept inside. Her three companions exchanged glances, then followed her. 

"I reckon the Doc's getting a bit overexcited," said Graham under his breath. "This all looks normal to me."

"I don't know." Yaz frowned. "She's usually right about this sort of thing. We'll see."

"Come on, Team TARDIS!" shouted the Doctor, pushing open the doors of what looked to be a front office. "Put on your best nursery-investigator faces."

"What's a nursery-investigator face supposed to look like?" Ryan muttered. 

"Try to look professional, but also friendly?" Yaz suggested. 

Graham snorted. "That's a paradox."

The man behind the desk barely looked up as they entered. "Can I help you?" he asked, peering over wire-rimmed spectacles.

"Yes, actually." The Doctor whipped out her psychic paper. "We're from the Department of Health and Safety. We're, ah, inspecting schools and nurseries in the area, making sure everything is up to regulation."

The man barely glanced at the psychic paper before nodding. "Go ahead."

"Right, then." The Doctor gestured for her companions to follow as she exited the office and strode toward a large building, its windows plastered with papers covered in children's drawings. 

Just as they neared the first door, it opened. A plump, middle-aged woman exited, adjusting her scarf.

"Hello there!" The Doctor smiled brightly, holding up her psychic paper again.

"That's a peak Doc smile right there," Graham said in a stage whisper. "10/10."

"Department of Health and Safety," she explained, ignoring him. "We're inspecting this nursery. Tell me, have you noticed anything that might not be up to regulation?"

The woman blinked. "No." 

"Hmm. Worth a try. May we come in?"

"I suppose, if you like." 

"Right." The Doctor swept inside, Yaz, Graham, and Ryan following. "Come on!" she called to the woman. 

"Actually, I was headed to the office —"

"I'm sure you have a minute to spare," she said, cutting her off cheerily. "I'm the Doctor. This is Yaz, Graham, and Ryan. And you are?"

The woman blinked, looking more than a little flummoxed. "Mrs. Lindsey Thompson. I'm the director of this facility."

"Naturally." The Doctor nodded. "Mind if we take a look around, Mrs. Thompson?"

"Go ahead."

She scanned the room. Tables with tiny plastic chairs, a carpet embroidered with the ABC's, more children's drawings on the walls and floor. As far as she could tell, a normal nursery. But there was something . . . something she couldn't quite put her finger on. Something that felt wrong. 

"We're going to call in the kids in a minute," said Thompson. 

"Well, I won't take up any more of your time." The Doctor smiled blindingly again, although it looked somewhat strained. "We'll take a look around the playground when they come inside."

"Not her best," Ryan whispered to Graham. "8/10."

"Oh, no, it's all right." Thompson shook her head rapidly. "You can stay, the kids won't mind." 

"No, really. I wouldn't want to distract them." Her smile grew even more bright.

"Oooh," said Yaz. "Back to 10/10."

"It doesn't matter. Honestly. Besides, how can you gauge how happy and healthy the children are if you aren't around to see them?" Thompson offered her first smile, somewhat weakly.

Graham grimaced. "Eh. 4/10."

"Well then." The Doctor surveyed Thompson, hands propped on her hips. "We'll stick around. If you insist." 

She nodded wordlessly, then left. As the door swung shut behind her, the Doctor turned to her companions. "Well? What do you think? Weird?" 

"Weird," Ryan agreed. 

The Doctor nodded to herself. "Mega-weird."

Yaz cringed. "Don't say _mega_."

"Super-weird. Ultra-weird. Bazookabokabonkers-weird." She began inspecting the room again, restless. She turned over papers, nudged the edge of the carpet with her shoe. "What's she got to hide?"

"And why doesn't she want us looking outside?" Graham added.

"Hey, Doctor." Ryan was frowning at one of the kids' drawings. "Look at this."

It was a scribbled drawing of a castle, obviously done by a very young child. Multicolored dragons flapped around the various towers, and what looked like giant flowers seemed to be eating one of the stick-figure guards near the gate. But what instantly caught the Doctor's attention was the sharp red X in the left-hand corner. 

"What's so special about that?" asked Graham, his brows knitting together in confusion.

"Nothing." The Doctor held up another piece of paper. "Except that it's also in this drawing."

"And this one," Ryan added. 

Yaz frowned, leafing through the papers. "It's in _all_ the drawings. Always in the left corner. Except—wait, not in this one. Or this one."

The Doctor scanned the papers with her sonic. "Normal readings. Just plain old ink."

"But why's in pen, if the rest of the drawings are in crayon?" Graham asked.

"No idea," the Doctor announced. She beamed, clearly ecstatic at the introduction of a whole new adventure. "Ready to find out?"

The door burst open, and the children flooded in.

"New people!" A little girl bounced up to the Doctor, staring with wide eyes. "Who're you?" she demanded frankly.

The Doctor knelt down, so that she was at eye level with the girl. "I'm the Doctor," she replied gently, her eyes creasing as she smiled. "And who are you?"

"Maria," said the girl. Her eyes narrowed. "Your name can't be the Doctor. Only superheroes 'n' stuff have names like that."

The Doctor tilted her head. "How do you know I'm not a superhero?"

"'Cuz," replied Maria, with utmost certainty. "You're not wearin' a cape."

"Ah, but I've got my coat. And this." The Doctor held up her sonic. "I'm absolutely sorted."

"Is that a magic wand?" asked little Maria, wide-eyed.

"Sort of. But better." The Doctor picked up the castle drawing. "Can you tell me what this is, Maria?"

"That's Talia's." Maria frowned. "She only ever draws dragons even though dragons are BORING fairies are better. Can you fly with your magic wand?"

"Not exactly _fly,_ per se." The Doctor pointed to the X in the corner of the paper. "What's this part, Maria?"

"A X. What's purr say mean?"

"Well, I don't really _fly_. I travel throughout time and space and help people who are in trouble," the Doctor replied in a stage whisper. 

"Are you the Fairy Godmother?" asked Maria, her big brown eyes growing even wider.

"Sort of," the Doctor said again. "Why is there an X on this drawing?"

A shrug. "I dunno. Do you have wings and have you met Tinkerbell and how come you're human-sized instead of little like in the movies?"

"No, yes, and I don't know," the Doctor replied. "Oh, imagine being that little! I could sleep in a sock! And eat a biscuit the size of me for breakfast! Might be a bit hard to keep from being stepped on, though."

"Doctor," said Yaz under her breath.

"Right! Anyway!" The Doctor's voice dropped. "Maria, are you sure you don't know why your friend drew an X on this paper?"

The little girl scrunched up her nose as though in deep thought. Just as she opened her mouth to answer, Thompson's voice cut in.

"Ms. . . . Doctor. I hope you're not upsetting the children?"

"Mrs. T! Mrs. T! This lady's a fairy godmother and she travels in _time_ and she has a magic wand and she's met Tinkerbell!" shouted Maria, jumping up and down. 

Thompson's gaze fixed on the Doctor. "Has she now?" 

"Right!" said the Doctor loudly, standing back up and setting the paper down. "I think we've seen enough. Sorry for the intrusion, Mrs. Lindsey Thompson. Come on, gang."

She strode wordlessly out the door. Her companions filed after her, casting confused glances back at the children's drawings. 

"Suspicious?" the Doctor said, glancing over her shoulder.

"Suspicious," Ryan agreed. 

"Mega, ultra, super suspicious." The Doctor studied the now-empty playground. She chewed her lip, thinking hard. The children had seemed perfectly normal, but their drawings. . . and she had a feeling she couldn't quite describe. A feeling of anticipation.

"Hey, Doc." Graham pointed back towards the building. "Who's she?"

The Doctor followed his gaze. Standing with hands propped on hips, studying the children's drawings on the window, was a woman in black high heels.

Hearing their voices, the woman turned. 

And the Doctor froze.

Scarlet-painted lips. Frizzy hair. Blue-green eyes with a teasing glint she'd spent long enough staring into to recognize anywhere. 

_River_.


	2. Mrs. Melody Malone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hello.” She tucked a frizzy curl behind one ear. “The name’s Melody Malone.”
> 
> “I’m . . . Smith." The Doctor bit her lip. "Dr. John—Joanne Smith.”
> 
> ***  
> The Doctor and River are back to their old little dance.

The Doctor’s lips parted.

She tried to speak — to say anything. Anything. But the words caught halfway up her throat, and she thought maybe it was better this way — better to stand in silence than to let her voice break beneath the force of years of separation.

_Hello, sweetie,_ were the words on the tip of her tongue. 

_Hello, sweetie. Hello, River. Hello, love of my life, moon to my sun, the impossible ruler of my heart. Hello, woman of my dreams around which my chaotic, beautiful, terrible universe now revolves, against all reason, against all odds._

_Hello._

But River said it first.

“Hello.” She tucked a frizzy curl behind one ear. “The name’s Melody Malone.”

The Doctor froze again, feeling words writhe beneath her tongue, clash against her teeth, begging to be let loose. And for some reason, for whatever reason, she swallowed them.

“I’m . . . Smith." She bit her lip. "Dr. John— _Joanne_ Smith.”

“Ooh. I do love me a doctor.” That little half-smirk. Just the left corner of River’s mouth, twitching up ever so slightly. It had sent both of the Doctor’s hearts into twisted shambles centuries ago, and it sent them into twisted shambles now. “And your . . . friends?”

“Right.” The Doctor gestured behind herself. “Yaz, Graham, and Ryan.”

Ryan mumbled out a quiet “hey.” Yaz waved.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” River proffered her hand. The Doctor made to shake it, but River raised it to her lips and ghosted a kiss over her knuckles instead.

When she looked up, their eyes met.

And all the Doctor could think was, _Does she know? Does she?_

_No. There’s no way she could recognize me unless she knew beforehand. And she’d have called me by name if she had. . ._

Realizing that the silence had stretched into something verging on awkward, the Doctor summoned one of her trademark brilliant smiles. "Absolutely." What was she agreeing to? Was she agreeing to something at all?

_Focus, Doctor._

"Well, then! What brings you here?" asked the Doctor. 

River's curl fell across her eyes again. She jerked her head to flick it out of the way. "Oh, I'm just waiting to pick up my wife from work."

The Doctor's hearts—both of them—skipped a beat. "Wife?"

"Lindsey—the director." River smiled. Was it the Doctor's imagination, or was there a note of ruefulness to that smile—like she regretted offering this particular piece of information after kissing the Doctor's hand?

_Or,_ said a small, hopeful voice in her head, _because she feels guilty about marrying someone else, when she's already married to_ me _?_

Is _she married to me yet? How far along in our timeline is she?_

The silence grew uncomfortable again. "Yes," the Doctor replied quickly. "We've met."

"We're—erm—inspecting nurseries in the area," Graham cut in for the first time, before another silence threatened to swallow them all whole. "Noticed anything that might not be up to par?"

The Doctor's companions, she noted to herself, all had more than one trait in common, not the least of which being that they were not particularly adept at subtlety. 

But River only offered another of her teasing smiles. "Would I tell you if I had?"

"And hurt your wife? Of course you wouldn't." The Doctor returned the smile.

"6/10," Ryan whispered, softly enough that only Graham and Yaz could hear.

Graham tilted his head, as though examining a shop window display. "Don't sell the Doc short. That was at _least_ a 7.5."

Ignoring them, Yaz turned to River. "Well, thanks anyway," she said. River simply nodded in response, and Yaz turned on her heel. "We'll take a look around the playground. Are you coming, Doctor _Smith_?" she called pointedly over her shoulder. 

"Yes. Of course." The Doctor forced herself to look away from River. The wind caught her gray coat, making it billow behind her as she followed Yaz.

As soon as they were out of River's earshot, Graham folded his arms. "Are you going to tell us what that was about, Doc?"

"What what was about? The Tinkerbell bit? Because I wasn't lying, you know; I _did_ meet her, way back in 1903. Bit of a temper, good dress sense," the Doctor rambled.

"Not that—sorry, did you just say _good dress sense?_ " Graham blinked.

"I think we all know what he's asking." Ryan took over. "Why did you tell that Melody woman that your name was Joanne Smith?"

"Yeah," Yaz chimed in. "You always tell people who you are."

The Doctor winced internally—because no. No, she didn't. _I'm the Doctor,_ she'd told Yaz and Graham and Ryan, and it was true. But everything else—everything simmering beneath her skin, the layers of loss and guilt and exhaustion that had piled up throughout the years until she bore the weight of a thousand lifetimes—

They didn't know. They hadn't a clue.

And it was better — _safer_ for them this way.

Or maybe it was just too hard for her to admit exactly how broken she was out loud. 

"Doesn't matter." She crossed over to the sandbox and knelt beside it, scanning the ground with her sonic. "I think," she called over her shoulder, "the signals might have been coming from _underground_. I didn't pick up anything weird from the building."

Yaz exchanged a look with Graham and Ryan. "Let's split up," she suggested carefully to the Doctor. "You scan the playground, since you've got the sonic, and we can just manually search the outside of the building."

The Doctor frowned at whatever the sonic's readings were, then began scrabbling around in the sand. "All right."

" _All right_?" Ryan muttered to the others as they moved a healthy distance away. "Since when does the Doctor let us split off like that? Leaving one of us alone?"

"She's acting weird," Yaz agreed. "And what's up with this Joanne Smith thing?"

"Beats me." Graham shrugged. 

Yaz chewed her lip, thinking. She glanced back at the Doctor, who was still combing through the sand. Then at the woman—Melody—still standing by the window, examining the drawings. "Let's search the outside of the building, like we said," she decided.

"And keep an eye on this Melody Malone woman," Graham added. "The Doctor will explain; she always does."

" _Eventually_." Ryan made a noise halfway between a laugh and a sigh.

"Eventually," Graham agreed. He fished around in his jacket pocket. "And meanwhile, I've got a jar of peanut butter and a pickle sandwich to finish."

***

River stared at the children's drawings.

The Doctor stared at River.

Mysteries warred in the Doctor's mind, all equally labyrinthine. Mystery number one: the signals. The strange readings the TARDIS had picked up, oddly familiar for some reason. The X's on the children's drawings — on _some_ of the children's drawings, but not all. It could be innocuous . . . but then again, it might not.

Mystery number two: River.

What was she doing here, in a little day nursery in the twenty-first century? In _Cardiff_? And why in the name of Gallifrey had she married Lindsey Thompson? For a laugh? No. For some secretive reason of her own, no doubt. Some sort of _River_ reason. Like her marriage to . . . what had his name been? Hydroflax?

An ulterior motive. A clever scheme. Something undeniably her. Undeniably _River_. What, the Doctor wondered, was the ineffable woman up to this time? Another theft? Fondness curled somewhere between her two hearts, warm and sweet . . . 

But. 

_But._

Mystery number three: the Doctor. 

Why hadn't she seen fit to reveal herself? She asked herself, again and again, hands moving mechanically through the sand. It would have been easy. A smile. A shift, just enough to reveal the tip of her sonic poking out of her pocket. A whispered _hello, sweetie._

But she hadn't. She'd stayed silent. 

She knew which mystery bothered her the most. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been informed by a friend that they say 'nursery' instead of 'daycare' in the UK, so I'll go back and change it. 
> 
> Hopefully River's not too OOC.


	3. Line in the Sand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So you married the director." The Doctor didn't bother to hide her incredulity. "You couldn't have just gotten a job here?"
> 
> River snorted. "Darling. Nobody in their right mind would let me supervise children."
> 
> ***  
> One mystery solved, two to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three updates in three days! The writing gods are smiling upon me.

"Yaz," Ryan called, a frown creasing his forehead. "Graham. Get a load of this."

"What?" Yaz went on her tiptoes to glance over his shoulder. "Oh." 

A perfectly square metal plate was embedded in the ground, just along the edge of the fence. Something about the way it glinted coldly in the thin sunlight, its oddly perfect symmetry, felt weird. Otherworldly. _Alien_. Some kind of strange code was etched along the bottom, all curves and swoops and unnatural angles.

"It's the same as those readings the TARDIS picked up," said Ryan.

Yaz knelt beside the metal square. "What do you think it is?" she asked, brushing its surface with her fingers. Smooth. And cold . . . no, not cold. Cool. Slick. Oddly unnerving. She snatched her hand away quickly.

"The Doctor might know."

Squatting beside her, Graham reached out to touch the metal, too. "I reckon. . ." he began, but hesitated.

Ryan frowned. "What?"

"I reckon we should give the Doc a bit of space." Graham glanced up at the others. "She's been acting off."

"Yeah, she has," Yaz agreed. "But we're . . . we're the fam. Team TARDIS. We don't just leave each other by themselves when they need help."

"But she won't tell us what it _is_ ," Graham pointed out. 

"Maybe we should wait until we figure this out," Ryan suggested. "Let the Doctor blow off some steam, then help her out with whatever's making her act like this." 

"I guess." Yaz began feeling around the edges of the metal square, trying to find some sort of crack or button to get it open. "In the meantime, let's try and figure out what this is."

"Looks like some kind of . . . storage cube thing. Like a treasure chest," said Ryan.

"Or a trapdoor," Graham added. "Can you get it open?"

"I'm trying." She dug her nails beneath the seam of the block, but couldn't get it to budge. "I don't know if it even opens." 

"D'you think it's alien?"

"Like Yaz said," said Ryan. "When is it _not_ alien?"

"I don't think we'd have any idea what to do if it wasn't alien," Yaz agreed. 

Graham raised his eyebrows. "I don't think we have any idea what we're doing _now_." 

"Guess not." She sighed and rose to her feet, dusting dirt off her palms. "I bet the Doctor could get this thing open with her sonic."

"Probably. But like we said, she needs space right now." Ryan sighed. 

"Should we check on her?"

Ryan hesitated. "I don't know."

"Maybe she's gotten over whatever's been bothering her by now." Yaz gazed down at the metal cube without really seeing it, lost in thought. "And if she hasn't, I think we need to help."

"Guys," said Graham.

"But we might just make it worse," Ryan argued. 

"Guys."

Yaz thew her hands in the air. "We won't _know_ if we don't go and find out!"

"Guys!" Graham interrupted loudly.

" _What_?" said Yaz and Ryan in unison. 

He gestured toward the building. The slight breeze caught the children's drawings taped to the glass, causing them to flutter, the red X's in the corners stark and bright. "Melody's gone."

***

The Doctor's hands were rubbed red and raw from digging through the sand. Specks of sand kept threatening to get in her eyes. She blinked to clear her vision, the world wavering around her.

She couldn't get her mind off River. River, River, _River_. Was this _her_ River — the River who'd fallen in love with her, who she'd fallen in love with in return? Or was this a past version of River, who only knew the brainwashed world she'd been raised to know?

Could it be . . . no. Surely this couldn't be a post-Darilium River. Because there was no way she could have escaped the Library . . . 

Her hands struck metal. 

Brushing sand off her find, the Doctor realized it was some sort of stick-straight rod, buried half a foot beneath the surface of the sandbox. Black metal, smooth and slick. Non-terrestrial, for sure. She scanned it with her sonic, but the readings were jumbled and unrecognizable.

"Shielded," she muttered. "Brilliant." She'd have to do this the old-fashioned way.

The Doctor scraped more sand off the object, her palms growing scraped and agitated, and realized it wasn't just a rod. It was attached to something bigger, buried beneath the sand. 

"A spaceship," the Doctor murmured, eyes growing wide.

A spaceship, and a familiarly built one at that. But she couldn't quite put her finger on where she'd seen something like this before . . . there was something, a haze around her memories, something . . . something like a mental block, preventing her from seeing . . . . 

Shaking her head to clear it, the Doctor jumped to her feet. "Yaz!" she called out. "Graham! Ryan! Get a load of what I've found!"

No response.

The Doctor scanned the area, but saw no trace of her companions. She rounded the building, inspected every corner. Nothing.

"They must have gone back inside," she said aloud. 

By now, the children must have all been picked up. River and her wife — the Doctor's mind shied away from even thinking the words, but she shoved her jealousy aside — must have gone home as well. When she pushed open the double doors, the room was deserted.

"Graham?" She stepped carefully over the threshold, eyes darting around the room. "Ryan? Yaz? Hello, fam?"

Nothing.

And then a noise — coming from beneath the Doctor's feet. 

She crouched down, whipped out her sonic. Her scan showed nothing abnormal, no alien tech, except —

"A great big empty space beneath the floor," she whispered. Some kind of basement, maybe, or some other completely innocuous explanation. But the Doctor had long since learned not to trust anything that seemed innocuous. 

"So how do I get down there?" She felt along the edges of the carpet for a switch, a trapdoor. Nothing. She searched the walls for hidden panels. Nothing. In desperation, she even jumped up to tap each ceiling panel, just in case one of them happened to swing open. Nope. 

Sighing, the Doctor leaned against a bookshelf stuffed with board books. And promptly fell backward as the bookshelf swung inward, revealing a hidden staircase leading downwards into darkness. 

"Nice," said the Doctor, with the sort of appreciation a wine connoisseur might offer to a particularly fine glass. "Hidden staircase concealed by a bookshelf. Classic. A bit cliché, but classic." Her voice echoed down into the darkness. She found herself wishing there was somebody with her to offer a witty riposte. 

There was, of course, only one thing anyone with the sanity level of one such as the Doctor could do: go down the staircase. 

At the bottom of the steps, she was met with a locked metal door. A quick scan of her sonic had it swinging open, revealing a long, dimly lit room, lined with strange metal headsets fixed into the wall. They reminded the Doctor of something she might see in an early nineteenth-century mental asylum.

And slumped against the walls, faces half-obscured by the metal headsets, were the nursery children.

The Doctor rushed to the nearest child, whipping out her sonic. "Normal sleeping brain activity," she murmured to herself. "No physical harm." She let out a breath of relief. "So who's doing this to you? And _why_?"

"Excellent question, Dr. Smith," said a voice from behind her. 

The Doctor spun around. Leaning against the wall, where the Doctor had somehow missed her, was River Song.

"R—Mrs. Malone." She folded her arms. "What exactly are you doing with these children? They've done nothing wrong."

"So quick to accuse." River smirked, pushing off the wall and sauntering toward the Doctor. " _I_ haven't done anything."

"Says the woman lurking around in a hidden room full of chained-up children," she retorted. "You can't possibly tell me you've nothing to do with this. Tell me, was it your wife's idea, or yours?"

"My wife." River rolled the word over her tongue as though it amused her. The Doctor squashed the shiver that was sent rippling through her by those two words on River's lips. "Right. I'm afraid I've misled you, Dr. Smith."

"Misled me," the Doctor echoed flatly. "How, exactly?"

"I _am_ married to Lindsey Thompson." River inspected one of the headsets, her fingers slipping through the wispy blond curl of the girl hooked up to it—it was Maria, the Doctor realized. "But I had no idea what she was doing down here. I only discovered this place yesterday."

"And you expect me to believe you?" _Oh, River Song. You could tell whatever lies you like, and all I'd want to do is kiss each one straight off your lips._

"I only married her to have an excuse to investigate here." River folded her arms. "You and your friends were right about this place. I could tell something wasn't . . . _up to par_ , as your friend put it."

"So you _married the director._ " The Doctor didn't bother to hide her incredulity. "You couldn't have just gotten a job here?"

River snorted. "Darling. Nobody in their right mind would let _me_ supervise children."

_Fair enough._ "There must have been another way."

"Why would it matter to you? It worked." River knelt beside Maria's slumped body. She frowned, inspecting the headset. "A neural scanner," she muttered to herself. 

"Not just a neural scanner," the Doctor said, unable to keep herself from showing off a bit. "That bit right there"—she pointed to a thin rod extending into Maria's ear—"is a direct attachment to this girl's brain. It's plugging in information—or _extracting_ it."

River raised one perfect eyebrow, impressed. "What kind of medical school did _you_ go to"

"A good one." Unable to resist, she added, "For doctors."

"Hmm." River prodded at the headset. "By the way," she added conversationally. "Where _are_ those friends of yours, anyway?"

The Doctor almost facepalmed. _Right._ She'd been so distracted by River, she'd forgotten all about them. _Stupid, stupid Doctor._ "I was looking for them. That's why I wandered in here in the first place." 

_Thud_.

River and the Doctor both jumped. "What was that?" the Doctor asked. She whirled to the metallic wall, where noise had come from.

A shrug was the only response. "I only pretend to know everything."

Another thud, and then a muffled, "Doctor?"

"Graham!" The Doctor rushed to the wall and pressed her ear against it. "Is that you? Are Yaz and Ryan with you? How did you get there?"

"Yes, yes, and no idea," his voice replied. 

Yaz's voice piped up. "We found a trapdoor on the ground. Near the fence. At first we couldn't get in, but Ryan jabbed it with a stick and we managed to jiggle it open."

"But it locked behind us." That was Ryan, sounding weary. "We're in some sort of weird, dark room. No exits, other than the trapdoor."

"Don't worry. I'll get you out," the Doctor promised. 

"I wouldn't be so sure about that if I were you."

The Doctor and River both whipped around.

Thompson stepped into the light, swinging the door shut behind her.

In her hand, the barrel of a laser blaster glinted in the dim light. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry that I can't respond to all these lovely comments. I appreciate your support and enthusiasm so much; it really keeps me going :)
> 
> (Yes, I stole the "What kind of medical school did you go to?" / "A good one. For doctors" exchange straight from "The Husbands of River Song." Sorry, Moffat.)


	4. Oh, Shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We won't hurt you," Yaz promised. 
> 
> "It doesn't matter," rasped a voice. "Anything you do to me can't be any worse than . . . than what it's done." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's . . . not my best work. Eh.

"Doctor!" Yaz pressed her palm against the rusted metal wall, feeling panic rise in her throat. "Doctor, what's going on in there? Are you all right?"

She could hear voices, but they were too low to make out the words. "Doctor!" she called again.

From somewhere behind her, a low groan echoed through the room. She froze.

"What was that?" Ryan whispered. 

"I don't know," she whispered back.

"Why are we whispering?" Graham whispered. 

"I don't know!"

Another groan.

Yaz stepped forward, squinting, but it was dark enough that she could barely see her own hand. The only light in the room came from the faint cracks around the edges of the trapdoor, around eight feet above them.

"Hello?" she said cautiously. "Who's there?"

A broken, faint cough. Whoever was in the room with them didn't seem to be in peak physical shape, so Yaz risked another step forward. "We won't hurt you," she promised. 

"It doesn't matter," rasped a voice. Female. And . . . oddly familiar. "Anything you . . . " More coughing. Yaz's heart twisted in pity for this mystery woman. "Anything you do to me can't be any worse than . . . than what _it's_ done." 

"It?" Ryan echoed, anxiety rising in his voice.

"The . . . shapeshifter," the woman groaned. "The mirror."

"The mirror?" he echoed. 

"Hang on," said Graham. Yaz heard him rummage around in his pockets. "I've got a flashlight somewhere in here."

"You didn't think to mention that earlier?" said Ryan. 

"It slipped my mind!" More rummaging. A click, and then they were all blinking in the sudden beam of bright, electric light. Yaz squinted into the corner where the voice had come from. A woman was huddled in the corner, wrists shackled and chained to the wall. Between her knees was a bucket of dirty-looking water, beside a tray of stale bread. 

The woman raised her head. Dark curls fell around her shadow-bathed face, which was gaunt and obviously hadn't been washed in weeks. 

Yaz stared in disbelief.

It was Thompson.

***

Thompson stepped forward, her blaster trained on the Doctor. The Doctor could hear Yaz's voice from the other side of the wall, but her words were drowned out by her twin heartbeats, thundering in her ears.

"Lindsey," said River, stepping forward. The blaster swung toward her, and she lifted her hands. "Lindsey, what are you doing?"

"Oh, Melody." The director sighed. "I hoped you wouldn't find this place."

"I don't understand." Whether it was genuine or affected—and she suspected it was affected—the Doctor still felt a pang at the tremble in River's voice.

"I _liked_ you," Thompson went on. "It wasn't easy finding a partner. But worth it. Helped me blend in. Seem more normal. But it doesn't matter now."

"Lindsey?" River's voice shook, but she shot a quick, veiled glance at the Doctor—and then she winked. Laser-fast, so quickly she almost missed it. Time—River was buying her time. 

_Oh, you wonderful, wonderful woman,_ the Doctor thought. With Thompson's eyes on River, the Doctor slipped her hand into her pocket.

"Soon I'll be ready." Thompson walked idly toward the nearest child and drew a finger along the top of his head, one and still aiming the blaster between River's eyes. "Nearly there now," she murmured, flicking the little yellow light on top of the headset. 

The Doctor's mind spun. Subtly, she studied Maria's headset. As she watched, the yellow light brightened to green. The pieces of the puzzle swirled in her head, beginning to connect. The buried spaceship, probably out of energy. The children connected to these headsets.The X's in the corners of the children's drawings.

But . . . only _some_ of the drawings . . . 

Slowly, her fingers curled around her sonic screwdriver. 

"Energy." As she spoke, the blaster whipped around to aim at her. "Whoa there. I _really_ don't like it when people point weapons at me. But I've got to know if I'm right. _Energy._ That's what you need."

No answer. Thompson's finger curled around the trigger.

"I'm right, aren't I?" The Doctor plowed on. "Your spaceship's out of energy. You need to fuel it. Only question left is, what are you fueling it with?" She bounced on her toes a little. "Oh, I'm so so close. It's on the tip of my tongue!"

" _Enough,"_ Thompson snapped. 

"Oh, why do you care if I figure this out!" The Doctor rolled her eyes. "You'll kill me anyway. Come _on_. Last request. Let me have a bit of fun."

She dared a glance at River. A fine line — such a fine, dangerous line she walked now, letting hint after hint of herself —of _the Doctor_ — shine through. 

But River was watching Thompson, a bright, steady gleam in her eye.

"Maybe. Maybe not." The director surveyed the Doctor, blaster still pointed between her eyes. "You—you're clever. I could use you."

"Use me how?" The Doctor narrowed her eyes. "'Cause just a little word of advice, Mrs. Thompson. People who try and _use_ me usually find themselves without the means to use much of anything."

There. There it was. The part of her she kept hidden behind a mask of bubbles and bright smiles. There was the half of the Doctor cloaked in shadow, stained with blood. The part she loathed, despised, agonized over . . . and, occasionally, used to her advantage.

She didn't dare look at River again, didn't dare gauge her reaction.

"I don't usually go for adults," Thompson continued, ignoring her completely — _oh_ , _if there's one thing I hate more than being used,_ the Doctor thought, _it's being ignored —_ "but you seem like a good match. You, on the other hand." She sighed, tilted her head toward River. "Oh, Melody. You were so _stupid_. So gullible. Never suspected a thing, for all these months. You'd be of no use to me at all."

"Watch it," the Doctor snapped. Too fast. Oh, she was practically flirting with danger now — the more protective she was of River, the more obvious her identity would be. . . 

River had to know by now. She _must_. But for whatever reason, she was keeping it quiet. Or . . . unless. . . unless this version of River, at this point in her timeline, didn't even _know_ the Doctor.

But she wouldn't have called herself Melody _Malone_ , then, would she?

_Would_ she?

The Doctor forced herself to tune out those thoughts. She couldn't afford to be distracted.

"So." Thompson weighed the blaster in her hand, as though debating whether or not to shoot. The Doctor shot River a desperate glance. _Move,_ she thought. _Leave now. I've seen you in action. I've seen how good you are at escaping. She's just said she won't kill me. So leave now._

Thompson wouldn't shoot River. Would she? Too much of a mess, too much of a noise . . . unless that was a molecular disintegrator? The Doctor should know this. _Did_ know this. But it was like a great big gaping hole had been torn out of her mind where her knowledge of this particular weapon had once been, fraying at the edges.

River raised her eyes, and the Doctor swore she winked.

The director's finger squeezed the trigger. 

A beam of blinding red light shot forward. 

The Doctor flinched, her eyes snapping shut of their own accord. The flash ricocheted around the insides of her mind, brighter than lightning. And when she opened her eyes again—

River was gone. 


	5. I Can Think of a Few Reasons ;-)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This might be a bit of a shock. But I'm from—"  
> "The future?" The Doctor finished.  
> River raised her eyebrows. "What gave me away?"  
> "Stab in the dark."
> 
> ***  
> River is badass, the Doctor is smitten, and l'auteur is bad at writing action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's play a fun game called Spot the Glaringly Obvious Sherlock Reference!

Frozen.

The Doctor was frozen.

She felt caught between heartbeats, trapped in the moment before taking a breath when your whole body stills for the tiniest fraction of time. The logical part of her whispered: _River can't be dead, because you know when she dies, you were there when she died. . ._

And another part — a cold, lonely, hopeless part — reminded her: _Time can be rewritten._

Oh, the Doctor knew that firsthand. 

Thompson spun the blaster in one hand, then pointed it directly at the Doctor. "Now," she said softly. "Be a good girl and walk over to the headset on your right."

Numb, she obeyed. 

"Kneel."

Her knees folded, hit the metal floor with a thud that reverberated through her bones.

"Press the back of your head against the metal bar and flip the switch on the left side."

The Doctor tipped her head up to obey — and froze again. Relief crashed through her body, swift and fierce.

Fighting to push her relief from her expression, she stuck her head into the headset, flipped the switch with one hand. A tiny jab of pain sparked through her as a needle injected something into the back of her head.

"Now—"

She never finished the sentence.

 _Crash._ River dropped from where she'd been clinging to the ceiling, landing squarely on Thompson's shoulders. The director gasped, staggering to her knees under the weight; the blaster spun from her hands and out of sight.

River hooked her legs around Thompson's neck and squeezed. The blood slowly drained from the woman's face, turning it cool and pale. Before she could pass out, River wriggled neatly away, pulled a handgun from where she'd somehow concealed it in her pocket, and pressed it to Thompson's forehead.

"Let's try this again, _sweetheart_." River leaned down over Thompson. The Doctor watched, half in awe, half in fondness, as she flicked her wrist, and a thin but strong-looking wire ejected from the bracelet on her wrist. It spun around Thompson's legs, wrapping them together.

Thompson keeled forward slightly, groaning as the wire cinched tight. "Who are you," she breathed.

She laughed, a peal of lovely sound caught somewhere between sweet and terrifying. It sent a shiver up the Doctor's spine — had always sent shiver down her spine. _River River River,_ her body sang, and she ached to hold her, kiss her, speak to her. Say _Hello, sweetie. Need a spot of help?_

But —for the first time in forever — she held her tongue.

"My name," River whispered, leaning in further, "is Professor River Song. You may have heard of me."

Thompson's eyes widened. She cringed back perceptibly. The Doctor, still kneeling, couldn't help but feel a thrill of pride zing through her — _that's my girl._

"Dr. Smith," River called, without looking away from Thompson's face. "Would you be so kind as to reach into my pocket?"

The Doctor stood up. Her legs shook slightly from the strain she'd put on them while kneeling. She stepped forward, slipped her hand into River's back pocket. Her fingers brushed the curve of River's thigh, and she had to physically bite her tongue.

"Jacket pocket, love."

"Oh." Thankful that River couldn't see the heat blooming in her cheeks, the Doctor rummaged around until her fingers closed around something metal. She pulled out—

"Handcuffs?"

"Mmm. Snap them on Lindsey here, if you please."

"Why would someone carry around _handcuffs_?" the Doctor grumbled under her breath, even as she did as River said. Thompson glared as she fastened the cuffs around her wrists, but didn't budge, too wary of River's gun.

"Oh, I can think of a few reasons," River purred. She stepped back as the Doctor finished, blushing even brighter now. Now that Thompson was bound and cuffed, she reached forward and tugged Thompson's scarf off her neck.

"What are you doing?" Thompson's eyes widened, then narrowed as River began to wrap the scarf around her face, cinching it tightly around her mouth. "Don't you dare, don't you—mmmmph!"

River finished tying the makeshift gag and shot the Doctor a smile. "Right. Much better. Now, I suppose I owe you an explanation." She sighed. For the first time that day, the Doctor saw something like trepidation flicker over her face. "Let's start over, shall we? I'm Professor River Song."

The Doctor swallowed. "Hello—"

"This might come as a bit of a shock," she said, cutting her off before she could finish. "But I'm from—"

"The future," the Doctor finished.

River raised her eyebrows. "What gave me away?"

"Stab in the dark." The Doctor glanced at Thompson, then winced. "Hmm. Maybe not the best analogy to use while we're in a room with a psychopath."

River surveyed Thompson. "More like a high-functioning sociopath, I'd say. Unless you meant me, of course." She glanced sideways at the Doctor. "You're taking all . . . all of _this_ rather well."

Outwardly, the Doctor only shrugged and replied, "I've seen a thing or two in my day."

Inwardly, she was screaming. Shouting. Begging River to look at her, to look at her for once, to _see_ her. _I'm here. It's me._ Look _at me,_ cried her thoughts, her hearts, her body. But River only offered a half-shrug of her own, the corner of her mouth turning up ever so slightly.

"Well," she said. "Lindsey was right about one thing. You _are_ clever. So what do you think we should do with h—"

She was cut off by a loud _beep_ that emanated from all the headsets simultaneously. They all released; the children slumped to the floor, unconscious as ever. The lights were all green.

"Energy," the Doctor murmured. "She's using the children for energy . . ."

"But how?" River knelt beside a little boy and checked his pulse. "They're alive, so . . .?"

"Come on." The Doctor whacked herself in the forehead. "Thinkthinkthinkthinkthink. If I were a crazy nursery director who needed to fuel my spaceship, how would I go about it?"

"And why a nursery?" River added. "Why not, I don't know, an electrical company? A nuclear power station?"

"Maybe her kind of spaceship isn't fueled by Earth-style power." The Doctor frowned, studying the row of metal devices. "So what's she getting from these children? And the X's on the drawings, how do they factor in? Wait. Hang on." She snapped her fingers. "I'm getting an idea. Okay, maybe not all of an idea yet. Maybe a sixth of an idea. A fifth at a push. A fifth of an idea! Not bad."

"Explain." The way River was watching her . . . that was the way she watched _the Doctor_. Not Joanne Smith. That was her 'he's hot when he's clever' look. 

"The X's . . ." the Doctor remembered the drawings marked with red pen. They'd been bright, colorful, chaotic. The pinnacle of a child's imagination. And then ones that had been left blank . . . stick figures, simple lines and dots. "She marked the good ones. The most creative ones."

"Imagination," said River, catching on.

"That's what she's running her ship on." The Doctor bounced on her toes, fueled by the excitement of her breakthrough. "Or at least, the specific brainwave patterns generated by imagination."

"Their dreams," River finished.

"Their dreams." The Doctor nodded in confirmation. "Or maybe not their actual, physical _dreams_ , necessarily, but the essence of them. The creativity that _generates_ them."

"But why children?"

"Because every child remembers how to dream." She smiled, crouching down to brush a lock of hair from a little boy's forehead. "And not all grownups do."

And the Doctor . . . the Doctor could never let herself forget. How to dream. How to be a child again. How to skip through the universe like she'd never seen it before, treat every tiny thing like a miracle. Because if she forgot, who would she be? _What_ would she be?

An ancient, exhausted, bitter god. Hollowed out by the strain of existence, of loss. _That_ was who she'd be. 

"But what kind of ship runs on _imagination_?" The Doctor stood, raked her fingers through her hair. _Come on, Doctor. Think._ "She looks human, but . . .?"

"I'd wager she isn't." River prodded one of the headpieces. "This tech doesn't look Earth-based."

"So, alien." The Doctor frowned. "But what kind? Why's she stranded on Earth?" _And why does it seem like every time I try to remember anything about her—her species, her weapon, her ship—my brain won't seem to work?_

"Okay, Lindsey," said the Doctor slowly. "At least tell us if I'm right."

No response. Not even a groan from behind their makeshift gag.

She and River both spun around. The handcuffs lay empty on the ground, the wire coiled around them. The blaster was nowhere in sight.

And neither was Thompson.

***

Huddled in the corner, hands chained and face gaunt, Thompson blinked in the light of Graham's flashlight. 

"You?" Ryan frowned. 

Yaz stepped forward hesitantly. She tugged at one of the chains, but it didn't budge. "How long have you been here?" she asked. It was difficult to look into the woman's face; it felt like an invasion of privacy, like she was trespassing into Thompson's obvious torment. 

The director shook her head slowly, eyes glazed. "Long," she croaked. "Long time. Weeks."

"Hang on, there's something I'm missing." The flashlight beam flickered over the ceiling and walls as Graham used it to scratch his head. "How've you been here for weeks if we just talked to you outside?"

Thompson shook her head again. Her gaze fixed on a point on the wall, gazing into nothing. She didn't speak.

Feeling like she was approaching a wounded animal, Yaz tried to make her voice as gentle as possible. "Lindsey," she said. "Your name's Lindsey, right?"

A nod.

"Right." Yaz blew out a breath. She'd had some experience dealing with shocked or traumatized people while working as a police officer, but nothing quite this bizarre. "Can you tell us who put you here? We can help," she added. "We've got a friend—she's got a tool that can get you free."

"Free," murmured Thompson. Curls fell across her sickly face as she looked back down. Yaz noticed that her hands were shaking, making the chains rattle. "I can never be free. It . . . _has_ me."

"What has you?" Ryan looked anxious. "What's _it_?"

"You mentioned a shapeshifter," Yaz cut in.

Thompson shook her head yet again, her hair flying wildly around her head. "It's not me," she gasped. "It's not me, I swear! Get me out. Get me _out_!"

"Okay. Okay. We'll help you. Don't worry, nobody's going to hurt you anymore," Yaz promised. 

"We need to find the Doctor," said Graham.

Just as the words left his lips, a tremor shook the building. Yaz stumbled backward and braced herself against the wall. Rust scraped off the metal, smudging on her palm.

Graham steadied himself on Ryan's arm. "What was that?" 

Ryan shrugged. "Earthquake? Explosion? The end of the world?"

"The way things go around the Doc, I wouldn't be surprised," Graham muttered. 

"One sec." Yaz pressed her ear against one of the walls. "I think I hear the Doctor."

Sure enough, that was the Doctor's voice. Yaz could barely make out the edges of her words, but it sounded vaguely like _Where did she go? What just happened?_

Another voice responded, female and familiar, saying something unintelligible.

"That's that Melody lady," said Ryan.

"Doctor!" Yaz shouted. 

More conversation between Melody and the Doctor, too hushed for them to hear, and then:

"Yaz!" A faint thump, as though the Doctor had just placed her ear against the opposite side of the wall. 

"Did you feel that tremor?"

"No, she's stupid and completely unaware of her surroundings," Graham deadpanned. 

"Graham? You and Ryan are still there, too?" came the Doctor's voice. "Good. Okay, listen. I figured out the drawings! And what Thompson's doing with the children. She's using—well, I'll explain later. But she's got a blaster and she's somewhere down here. Watch out."

"Er." Yaz glanced from Thompson, chained and staring vacantly into space, to Ryan and Graham, who both shrugged. 

"Doctor," said Ryan slowly. "Thompson's in here with us."

"What?"

"But she's chained up," Yaz added. "Says she's been chained up for weeks. And she said something about a shapeshifter. Doctor, what's going on? Which one's the real Thompson?"

"I don't know for sure. But I'd hazard a guess at the one in there with you." 

Another shiver rocked the building. Yaz staggered into Ryan, who caught her shoulders and steadied her.

"What's going on, Doc?" Graham called. 

A pause, and then the Doctor said, "The spaceship."

"What?"

"A bit ago—I'll explain later, but—her spaceship's charged up! She's leaving!" There was panic in the Doctor's voice, panic and something like . . . irritation?

"Isn't that a good thing?" said Melody's voice. 

"It would be. But something's telling me . . . I don't know." The Doctor sounded frustrated. "It's like my memory's been tampered with. But something's telling me something bad will happen when her ship takes off. I think the engines . . ." she trailed off.

"What?" Graham repeated, when she didn't go on.

She hesitated. "I think that when her type of ship takes off, the engines . . . not _backfire_ , but . . ." 

Yaz met Ryan's eyes, panic beginning to rise in her throat. "What are you saying, Doctor?" she asked shakily.

"This whole place—the kids, the real Thompson, us—it's all going to explode."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yayyy double update!


	6. The Last of the Elcox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Bit of a plan coming on. All right, that was a fib. More like . . . half of a bit."
> 
> ". . . Half of a bit?"
> 
> "Maybe a quarter." She shrugged. "Hey, I'm working under pressure here. You can't expect me to use standard measurements while I'm under pressure!"
> 
> ***
> 
> Angst and aliens.

"Explode?" The Doctor heard Ryan's voice echo through the thin, metallic wall.

"How do you know?" River added. 

She shook her head in frustration, causing a lock of blond hair to fall across her eyes. Pushing it out of her face, she folded her arms. "I _don't_ know. I just—I've got a feeling."

"A feeling," River repeated, skeptical.

"A memory!" The Doctor had to bite her lip to keep herself from shouting. "I told you, it feels like my memory's been all scrambled up. Just—trust me."

"We do," said Yaz."

River rested her hands on her hips, one eyebrow quirking. "We do?"

"You need to."

"You obviously know something about these creatures," River shot back. "You're obviously not really from Earth. You might not even be human. So if you've lied to me about that, what else have you lied about?"

"That doesn't matter right now! We need to focus." The Doctor pushed aside the bile that rose in her throat at River's words. If there was one thing she had always counted on, it was River's trust. 

_So tell her,_ said a voice somewhere in the corner of her mind. _Tell her and be done with it._

 _No._ She shoved it aside. _Concentrate._

"How long do we have?" asked Graham's voice. 

She blew out a breath. "Er . . . five minutes, tops?"

"Then we need to get out. Now."

"Right. Yes. One problem." The Doctor winced. "Er . . . the kids are down here."

"What?"

"Unconscious. Long story. Thompson—the alien one—was using them for energy." She whipped out her sonic and fiddled with the settings. If she could get it to the right frequency, give their brains a small shock, they might wake up . . . she tried, but whatever anesthetic Alien-Thompson had used on them was too strong, and a larger shock might do more damage than good. 

"Well, we can't leave them."

"I _know_ , Yaz." It came more snappish than she'd intended. The Doctor sighed and softened her voice. "Sorry. Just a bit on edge."

River crouched beside one of the children, pressing her hand to the side of his neck. "Out cold," she said quietly. "I don't think we could wake them if we tried."

The building shook again. The Doctor braced herself against the wall, her mind spinning. Time was running out. _Pull yourself together, Doctor._ "You still there, fam?"

"We're not exactly going anywhere," Graham's voice answered. 

"Let's hope you're wrong about that," she replied. "Can you get Thompson—the human one—out of her chains?"

A pause. Rattling, as though Graham had tugged on the restraints. "Don't think so."

"Try," she ordered. "Ryan and Yaz, do your best to get the trapdoor open, and I'll work on waking up the—"

She trailed off as River pulled out her handgun. "Stand back," she called to the Doctor's companions.

"What? Why?" 

"Just do it."

The sound of footsteps, then a few dull thumps, presumably as they pressed themselves against the opposite wall. River squinted with one eye and shot at the wall. _Bang._ Then again— _bang, bang._ Dents punched through the metal, warping it into twisted silver shapes. 

When she'd weakened the wall enough, River simply kicked it—once, twice, and then the thin metal surrendered, bending just enough for an average-sized person to crawl through.

"River Song, you are absolutely brilliant." She grinned.

A hint of that old, familiar smirk, the one that made the corners of her eyes crease up ever so slightly. "I know."

The Doctor pushed through the gap, winced as her hair caught in a jagged piece of metal. As quickly as possible, she used her sonic to snap open Thompson's chains. 

"What about the kids?" asked Ryan.

"Working on it. Bit of a plan coming on." The Doctor strode through the gap in the wall again, the others filing after her. "All right, that was a fib. More like . . . half of a bit."

". . . Half of a bit?"

"Maybe a quarter." She shrugged. "Hey, I'm working under pressure here. You can't expect me to use standard measurements while I'm under pressure!"

"Doctor," said Yaz.

"Right. Focus. Focusing." The Doctor concentrated as hard as possible. Those gaps in her memory, not natural, not the normal decay of distraction and time. Her memories, her knowledge . . . something had been ripped out. 

"But who?' she muttered. "And why? Well, Thompson, of course, but _why_?"

 _No. Focus._ The children. They needed to get the children out . . . 

"Okay," she said. "Yaz, get the real Thompson out of here. Far as you can."

Her mouth fell open. "I'm not leaving you!"

"Don't argue with me!" she snapped. All three of her companions flinched backward, shocked. She inhaled deeply, guilty—she'd never truly yelled at this lot before. "Sorry. Just. We don't have time to fight. Go, now!"

Falling silent, she nodded and grabbed Thompson's arm. She seemed a bit hazy, but stumbled up the stairs after Yaz. 

"We need to talk to Alien-Thompson." The Doctor spun around, accidentally whipping Ryan with the tail of her coat. "Whoops, sorry. Ahem. We need to talk to Alien-Thompson. Convince her not to leave, at least for now. That's our best shot of saving the kids. Reason with her."

"I don't think she'd the kind of person you reason with, Doc," said Graham.

"Maybe not." The Doctor met his eyes. "But you have to trust me." She let her gaze travel over each of her companions individually, and then—ignoring the sharp spike of pain it caused her, to look into eyes that didn't recognize her own—River. "Do you trust me?"

Two heads nodded, but River's mouth quirked. "I don't know you."

The words clanged through her and jabbed in deep, like shards of glass. _I don't know you. I don't trust you. I don't_ see _you, because I'm too blind to let myself see and you're too much of a stubborn idiot to tell me._

_Idiot, idiot, idiot Doctor._

The Doctor looked away. "Then get to know me quick. Because right now, I'm our only chance. Now follow me. I know where her ship is."

She led the way back up the staircase, casting one last glance at the peacefully sleeping children. Children who were about to die if she didn't pull herself together and do what she always did. 

_Save them._

_Save them all._

_Run._

_Be a Doctor._

When they burst out the nursery doors, the sudden wind whipping at their hair and clothes, the Doctor instantly spotted the ship. Alien-Thompson had somehow managed to heave it out of the ground, scattering swathes of sand across the blacktop. The Doctor could see a vague outline of her through the shaded windows of the cockpit. She was obviously having a bit of trouble with the engines; they kept hissing and spitting out thin streams of green gas. 

"Lindsey!" shouted the Doctor, throwing open the ship's door. She heard Graham, Ryan, and River follow her, their shoes banging on the metal floor. 

"Having a spot of trouble with your engines?" River said. 

The woman whirled around. Her hair was unkempt, face streaked with soot, scarf half-unwound around her shoulders. "Fuck off," she snapped. 

"Hey," said Graham. "Watch your language in front of my grandson."

" _Graham_ ," Ryan groaned. "I'm nineteen _._ Not nine."

The Doctor raised both hands in the air. "We're not here to hurt you," she promised. "We can help you. Find you another way off this planet. Nobody needs to get hurt."

Behind her, she heard River murmur, "That's debatable."

She stiffened. "And nobody _will_ get hurt," she continued, louder. "Take your hands off the controls. Those children are innocent."

Thompson spat, "You really don't get it, do you?" Her eyes smoldered, dark and inhuman. "And I thought you were at least a little clever."

"Wrong." The Doctor crossed her arms. "I'm _very_ clever. Clever enough to be wondering how exactly you got out of those handcuffs . . . and what exactly you erased from my mind."

Alien-Thompson blinked. For the first time, her expression softened as confusion crossed her face. “I didn’t erase anything from your memory.’

The Doctor narrowed her eyes. "Then explain why I think I know you. Explain why I can’t seem to remember anything about your ship or your weapon. Explain who you are."

"You want to know who I am?" she snarled. She yanked off the scarf, which was wrinkled and wadded up from River using it as a gag. "Fine. I'll _show_ you who I am."

"Doc?" said Graham uneasily.

Thompson opened her mouth, exposing her teeth. At first, nothing happened. And then her canines began to lengthen, sharpening to needle-like silver points. Her skin shriveled, darkened to a pale purple. The Doctor winced at the sound of cracking bones, popping joints, as the woman's body contorted, shrank, _transformed,_ into a shapeless, amorphous _thing_ , with tentacle-like growths waving around its center.

The sight of her—her? its?—true form sent a ripple of memory through the Doctor's mind. Thompson's species, this species . . . species she'd somehow forgotten. The sight was linked with something in her past . . . it brought to mind the fuzzy image of a courthouse — a _Gallifreyan_ courthouse —

And . . . Time Lords. A congregation of Time Lords, all dressed in those silly maroon robes, looking very serious, while Alien-Thompson — or another of its species—stood alone in the center of the room, chained and defiant. 

As abruptly as it had come, the memory vanished. The Doctor blinked, her vision clearing, and her stomach tightened at the influx of bad memories the thought of the other Time Lords brought. 

But . . . a name. There was a name on the tip of her tongue, brought to the surface of her mind by the sudden broken dam of memory.

"Elcox," she said quietly. "You're one of the Elcox."

" **No**." The voice that came out of the shriveled purple thing wasn't Lindsey Thompson's voice. It was high and scratchy and utterly inhuman. " **I am the last of the Elcox."**

"The last of the Elcox," the Doctor repeated. A pang of pity echoed through her. _The last of the Elcox. The last of the Time Lords,_ she thought. 

_But there's one difference between us._

"Alien or human," said the Doctor, "I don't like bullies. I don't like anyone who'd leave a roomful of children to die. So I'll tell you one more time, last of the Elcox. _Turn off this ship._ "

" **You still don't understand."** The Elcox made a strange spitting noise, somewhere between laughter and hissing. 

"What?" The Doctor stepped forward, her gaze fixed on it. "What don't I understand? _Tell me_!"

" **I am the last of the Elcox,"** it repeated. 

"And?" Ryan cut in. The Doctor shot him a sideways glance, trying to convey a message with her eyes: _let me handle this._

" **And,** " it said, in that strangely beautiful hiss, " **I am their last hope.** "

And those words . . . those words. . . 

They rang in the Doctor's mind, unleashing a flood of memory. She gasped and clutched her head as sharp pain cleaved through her mind. 

And she remembered.


	7. Hello, Sweetie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Says it on the tin.

_1,994 Years Ago_

_The Main Courthouse_

_Gallifrey_

The Doctor sighed and adjusted his scarf. For whatever reason, the Time Lords insisted on keeping the temperature of the Courthouse stiflingly hot, but he'd be damned if he took off his beloved scarf for a silly reason like that. If they weren't all wearing their heavy, ridiculous ceremonial robes, he'd suspect they kept the temperature like this just to torment him.

He shouldn't even be here, by rights. He'd promised himself years ago that he wasn't . . . a Time Lord. Well, he was. But not _really._ Not truly. Not the way the others were. 

But he'd been the one to stop the Elcox. He'd been the one to track it down after its erratic journey through the pages of history, as it tried to find its lost brethren. Pull them back into the future.

Save them.

His hearts had ached for the poor thing. But a paradox like that. . . it could destroy the fabric of space and time. Kill billions, _trillions_. 

So, yes, here he was. Back home. Back on Gallifrey, attending the trial of the very creature he'd managed to stop. He wouldn't have gotten the Time Lords involved—would have let the Elcox go—if they hadn't turned up on a routine inspection just as he'd been preparing to leave. 

He'd stolen a TARDIS. Run off on a thousand journeys throughout space and time, breaking laws right and left as he went. But one little prisoner delivery, and the Time Lords were all smiles to him again. It was almost laughable. 

Somebody was talking. The Judge. Talktalktalktalktalk. The Doctor sighed again, maybe a bit too loudly. 

Cardinal rules of time travel, the Judge was saying. Interference with history. Putting the universe in danger. Blah, blah, blah. 

"Does the condemned have anything to say in its defense?"

The Doctor perked up a little. This was always the most—if not the _only_ —interesting part. 

For a moment, the Elcox, a purple mass swirling in an almost mesmerizing vortex, was silent. Its beady eyes, nothing more than silver pinpricks dotted across its body, glared at everybody in the room. " **You would condemn me for a crime you yourselves have committed in the past?"**

The Doctor made a face. 

The Judge cleared her throat. "That," she said primly, "is irrelevant to this trial."

" **You have no other way to save my people?** " While it was difficult to make out emotion in its high, scratchy voice, the Doctor could definitely detect something like desperation. Loneliness. _The last plea of the last hope of the last of a species,_ he thought. 

But there was nothing the Doctor could do. Not in a room full of Time Lords. Unless he could come back later, take the TARDIS for a little spin into the future to break the Elcox out of prison somehow. . . with precise enough timing, he might even pick up its kin before the cataclysm that had eradicated them all . . . 

"I'm afraid not." The Judge's voice, for the first time, was tinged with pity. 

_Liar,_ thought the Doctor. It was true that they couldn't save everybody, but if they didn't at least _try—_

The swirling mass hung in the air for a moment, scrutinizing them. The Doctor couldn't help but feel as though _they_ were the ones on trial, not the Elcox.

" **Then you are useless."**

 _Trial's probably over,_ the Doctor thought, and then: _wait, what?_

The Judge's frown deepened. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

" **If you, the lords of time, cannot help me,"** the Elcox hissed, " **then allowing you to bring me here was a waste of _my_ time."**

Narrowing his eyes, the Doctor rose to his feet. 

And was promptly knocked back into his seat as a wave of nausea seemed to split his head in two. Through a haze of pain, he realized the other Time Lords seemed affected as well, all gasping and clutching at their heads. He'd known the Elcox possessed illusion psychokinesis, the ability to manipulate the areas of the brain that controlled perception, but he hadn't realized they could do _this_. 

"Restrain it!" somebody shouted. 

The Doctor forced himself to speak, even as he felt himself slip into unconsciousness. "No," he tried, struggling to stand. "Wait. . ."

But his heartbeats roared in his ears, drowning out the sounds of the room. Streaks of pale purple clouded his vision. 

And one by one, his memories of the Elcox began to filter away, fade into a dark corner, an abyss in the sea of centuries' worth of history that was the Doctor's mind. 

The last thing he heard were the Elcox's scratchy, hissed words: " **I am their last hope."**

***

_Present Day_

_Sunshine Children's Nursery_

_Cardiff, UK_

Voices swam in her mind, tugging her back up into the present from the tangled stretch of memory she'd been lost in.

"Doctor! Wake up! Doctor!"

She stirred. 

"I think she's waking up. Hey, Doc!"

"Hnnnng," she groaned. She forced her eyelids to open, and two faces rippled into view. Ryan and Graham. "Nggggh. Bleh." The Doctor wiggled her tongue around her mouth, trying to speak properly. "M'okay."

"Here." Ryan helped her up, and she staggered against him, the world still tilting around her. "You all right?"

"Hmmgh. Let's see." She blinked and patted down areas of her body. "Two hands, two feet, two elbows, two fleshy implements for the purpose of infant nourishment . . . still got my coat. Yup. All fine. Blehhhh." Shaking her head to clear it, the Doctor scanned her surroundings. They were still on the ship, but the Elcox was nowhere to be seen. "How long was I out?"

"Only a minute." At the sound of River's voice, she turned. The archeologist was leaning against the wall of the ship, arms folded. Her eyes pierced the Doctor's. "I don't suppose you'll tell us what that was about?"

"In a bit. Ergh. Oooh, my head." The Doctor whacked her forehead a few times, jumped up and down, and clapped her hands loudly, startling them all. "Okay! Yes! Functioning again!" She spun around. "Where's the Elcox?"

"I'll do you one better," said Graham. " _What_ is the Elcox?"

"Alien life form from the planet Elcoria," she explained. "A shapeshifter. Bit like a Zygon. Except. . . less orange. And less humanoid. And they’ve got eight hearts. And they don’t actually transform, just mess with your mind to cast the illusion that they’ve changed shape. So . . .not like a Zygon at all, actually. Sorry. But they do need to keep their victims alive. Form a mental link with them.”

"Not sure what a Zygon is," said Ryan, "but okay."

"But if you know all that, why didn't you tell us before?" Graham frowned. 

"I told you, my memory's been tampered with." She mirrored his frown, thinking hard. "Pretty sure their planet was destroyed. Years and years ago. This one—fake Thompson . . . it almost created a universe-destroying paradox, trying to save its race by pulling them from the past. And when it got in trouble for it . . ."

"It got _out_ of trouble by erasing your memories of it?" Ryan finished. 

She nodded in confirmation. "My memories, and everyone else, too, I'm guessing. I didn't realize they could even do that. Must be a last line of defense mechanism."

"Not that this isn't illuminating," River interjected, "but the Elcox is still gone."

"Right!" The Doctor darted through the ship. "Follow me!" she called over her shoulder. 

"Yeah," said Graham, "we know the drill."

The Doctor threw open door after door, exposing empty rooms. "Oi!" she shouted. "Lindsey! Or whatever your name is! Fancy a chat?"

"You're sure it's still on the ship?" asked Ryan.

"It's not about to leave its only chance of escape." The Doctor yanked open the last door. Nothing. 

" **We have met in the past."**

The voice came from directly behind them all. They all jumped and spun around. The Doctor wound her way through her companions until she was standing toe to toe with the Elcox (or, toe to questionable semi-tangible tentacle cloud).

" **You remembered me. We have met. But I don't remember you."**

"Well, I wouldn't call it _meeting_ , exactly. Also, I grew out my hair since then." 

It hissed, purple tendrils writhing. " **You will exit my ship."**

"Afraid I can't do that." She reached out, made to place her hand on its side, but it inched backward, and she stopped. "I understand. You're heartbroken. You're angry. You're alone. I understand."

" **You don't understand,"** it spat.

"Yeah? Try me." The Doctor leaned in, looking the Elcox in its multiple silvery eyes. There was a fire pulsing alongside her twin heartbeats now, a sort of liquid flame that raged in her veins. "You've spent centuries alone. Maybe thousands of years. All your family is dead and the only thing you want to do is save them. And I understand. I do. But you can't kill those children. I won't let you."

" **They are inconsequential."**

"Nobody," said the Doctor, with quiet, vicious lethality, "is inconsequential."

" **You would allow my people to die for the sake of twenty human children?"**

She felt a vicious twist somewhere deep in her chest. "I'm sorry. They're already gone."

" **Then you don't truly understand."** It shuddered, sending ripples of silver over its deep violet body. " **You claim to be like me, yet you dismiss my suffering. Who are you to stop me from saving my people? "**

" _No."_ She cut the Elcox off, eyes blazing, words dripping in venom. " _You_ don't truly understand. You've shown me _your_ true face. So let me show you mine. You want to know who I am to stop you?" The Doctor stepped forward. She didn't know what her companions were thinking, doing, saying, if they were speaking at all. She was caught up in the moment, in the rush of adrenaline in her veins and the words stinging on her tongue. 

She leaned in and whispered, loud enough only for the two of them, "I'm the last of my people, too. I'm the last of the Time Lords. And every day—every _bloody day_ I think about what I could've done to stop that. So don't lecture me on _suffering_." She sucked in a deep breath and snapped, " _I. Am. The. Doctor._ And I am telling you to _g_ _et off this ship_."

Behind her, she heard a faint intake of breath, too soft to be a proper gasp.

She turned.

River's hand covered her mouth, something—not shock, not happiness, but a sort of _confirmation_ , a gleam that made the Doctor feel like every muscle of her body was melting—flickering over her eyes. 

"Hello, sweetie," River whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the flashback bit, that's the fourth Doctor. (Scarf. Fairly obvious.)
> 
> More to come. Stay tuned.


	8. Boom!

“Hello, sweetie," River whispered. 

_Crunch , crunch, crunch._

“Grandad!” Ryan protested.

“What?” said Graham around a mouthful of pickle sandwich. “My blood sugar’s getting low.”

" **I do not understand."**

The Elcox's voice cut into the Doctor's haze of emotion. She spun back to face it, rolling her eyes. "Right. Sorry. Are we throwing off your creepy alien invasion vibe? Let's get back to it, shall we? As I was saying—"

"No, wait, hang on," Graham interrupted. "It's got a point. I don't get it, either."

The Doctor sighed. "River, meet the fam. Guys, this is my wife. Okay, back to it! As I was saying—"

Ryan gaped. "You've got a _wife_?"

" _As I was saying_ ," said the Doctor firmly, "get off this ship. I've got a ship of my own. Let me take you home. _Without_ killing anybody. And I can't promise that I'll save your people. But I will try."

" **You are a Time Lord,** " growled the Elcox. " **You lie."**

"Yes," she said simply, "I do. I do lie. But now now. Not about this. I _will_ try to help you, Lindsey."

" **I don't believe you."**

It turned toward the cockpit. Growling under her breath in frustration, the Doctor whipped out her sonic and snapped, "If you don't get off this ship, I'll use this handy little tool here to detonate the emergency bombs you've so helpfully placed in the floor in case of attack. Elcorian tech. Bit outdated, but not half bad at exploding things."

" **You would sacrifice yourself for a handful of humans?"**

She held its gaze steadily and said, without a sliver of a lie, "Any day of the week."

Seeming to deliberate, the Elcox undulated in place, waves of silver, lavender, and pale bronze rolling over its skin. _Such a beautiful, terrible, race, the Elcox,_ the Doctor thought. Not unlike humans in that respect.

" **I don't believe you,"** it decided, and turned, flickering away towards the cockpit almost too quickly for her to perceive.

"Fine!" The Doctor shouted after it. “Just remember. I gave you a chance."

Graham shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortable. "Doc—"

She cut him off. "Gang, get ready to run. _Fast_.” Taking a deep breath, she clicked a button on the side of the sonic.

_Ten seconds._

The Doctor spun around, shoving aside guilt, trepidation, sorrow, and sprinted as fast as she could out of the ship. Even so, the blast from the floor bombs, which rocked the ship like a sailboat on a stormy sea, hit her with shocking force; she was thrown off her feet, and smacked into the blacktop with a resounding _thud._

Barely a second later, a body smashed into her, and she let out a strangled _oof._

"Sorry, sweetie," River panted in her ear, breath curling hot against her neck. 

"S'fine." Ears ringing, the Doctor groaned, pushed herself to her feet. 

The Elcorian ship was . . . gone. In cinders, strewn across the ground, pieces of ash still drifting downward like the kind of silent, beautiful snow you always wished for as a child on Christmas Eve. Only—it wasn't snow. It was bits of disintegrated metal, bits of lovely death.

"You killed it." Ryan blinked rapidly.

The Doctor held his gaze. "I gave it a chance. Go find Yaz. Check on the kids with her. I'll be with you in a mo."

Graham pulled Ryan away, and they fell into step together, murmuring in hushed voices about _wife_ and _Doctor_ and _don't understand._ The Doctor sucked in a breath, avoiding looking at the ashes of the ship, and turned to walk away. To give herself a little time of her own. To let the weight of the death—the _genocide_ , she realized too late with a gut-wrenching twist in her chest—she'd caused settle. 

But a hand caught her wrist. She sighed, lips melting into a reluctant smile. "River."

Her wife tangled their fingers together. With her other hand, she cupped the Doctor's jaw, eyes blazing as their gazes caught and held. The warmth of her seeped beneath the Doctor's skin, the steady _thump-thump_ of her heartbeat a song—a song, always a Song—in her ears. She let her eyes slide shut—

And River slapped her in the face.

Cheek stinging, the Doctor staggered backwards, gaping at her wife. " _River_!"

"You should have told me." Her eyes blazed. _"You should have told me._ "

"River, I—"

"You let me agonize— _agonize_ over who you were," River hissed. "Whether you were my Doctor. I _tore myself apart_ wondering if I was imagining it."

"You think _I_ wasn't hurting?" The Doctor's hands curled into fists. She fought to keep her voice from breaking. "You think it didn't tear _me_ apart to know you were _here_ and not be able to _speak_ to you—"

"Nothing was stopping you!"

" _I_ was stopping me! And the worst part is that I don't know _why_!" She buried her face in her hands. River. _River River River_. " _Of course_ I wanted to tell you. _Of course_ it hurt not to. But I—"

"You what?" River folded her arms. "You expected me to _just know_?"

"Yes! No!" She tore at her hair in frustration. "I don't know."

River shook her head, her curls bouncing slightly, and the disappointment in her eyes was enough to make the Doctor's face burn in shame. "You embarrass me."

"I—"

"I ought to slap you into your next regeneration."

The Doctor winced. "I think you already did."

"And you deserve it!" River half-shouted. "You'd deserve it if I did it again."

"Maybe you should do it again." The Doctor massaged her cheek. "The other side this time, please."

They stared at each other. And then, inexplicably, River began to laugh.

"What?' the Doctor demanded. "What's funny?"

"Nothing," said River between giggles. "It's just—"

And she dissolved into laughter again. Despite herself, the Doctor felt a laugh bubble up and burst from her lips, too, and she felt her feet move forward without her permission, her arms fling around River. They stood like that for who knew how long, still shaking in what was now near-silent laughter, until she felt River's fingers tip up her chin so they were gazing into each other's eyes. 

River shook her head, eyes glistening. “I hate you,” she whispered.

The Doctor felt a ghost of a smile twitch at the corners of her mouth. “No, you don’t.”

She leaned in. Their lips brushed—soft and sweet and tentative. They parted, and the Doctor closed her eyes and let River hold her, press her mouth to her forehead. 

"Er . . . Doctor?"

They broke apart. Yaz was staring at them, hands on her hips, eyebrows raised.

"What have I missed?"

***

"Have we done Stonehenge yet?"

River laughed. "Oh, yes. Now _that_ was memorable."

"The Byzantium?"

"Oh, _that_ was fun. You'd no idea who I was."

They were all back in the TARDIS, after waking up the children in the basement and filling Yaz in. The Doctor had offered a brief explanation of her relationship with River—she'd been a man, they'd gotten married, and their tangled timestreams were constantly crossing when they least expected it. They were a bit stuck on the 'been a man' bit.

 _Remember when I said I'd been a white-headed Scotsman?_ The Doctor had grinned at them. _Well, I wasn't joking._

 _White-headed-Scotsman?_ River had asked with a raised eyebrow.

She'd shrugged apologetically. _Spoilers_. 

Now, she was leaning against the TARDIS console with River lounging on the floor at her feet, head resting against her thighs. "How about Manhattan, have we done that?" she asked, injecting a note of cheeriness she didn't quite feel anymore into her tone.

River stilled. "Yes," she said slowly. "We have."

"Ah." The Doctor refrained from wincing. It had been years, centuries in fact, since she'd lost Amy and Rory to the Weeping Angels, but the pain of it still stung. And she knew it hadn't been nearly as long for River. Quickly, she changed subjects. “Have we done all ten planets of the solar system yet? We have, haven't we?"

“There are ten planets?" From her perch on the other side of the TARDIS, Yaz frowned. "I’m pretty sure there are eight.”

“Nine,” Ryan corrected.

Graham groaned. “For the last time, Ryan, Pluto isn’t a planet—”

“Viva la Pluto!" 

“Ten,” said the Doctor, counting on her fingers. “Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, Beyoncéand . . . Oh, wait. My mistake. My love for you is so huge, I mistook it for a planet.”

River rolled her eyes, rose to her feet, and kissed her. “You absolute dork.”

“I love you, too.”

Yaz blinked. “There’s a planet called Beyoncé?”

“Whoops.” The Doctor made a face. “Spoilers."

"Well, with that lovely bit of information fresh in our heads, we'd better head home." Ryan heaved himself off the TARDIS console. 

"Sure," Graham agreed amiably. "See you later, Doc."

Her companions all filed out. Yaz winked and mouthed _Get it, Doctor_ over her shoulder as she left. As the TARDIS door swung shut, silence spooled between River and the Doctor. Not awkward or tense silence—comfortable silence. The kind of silence the Doctor had always associated with reading books, with cups of tea, with the sort of sweet, quiet domestic life she knew they'd never have.

"I still can't believe you didn't realize it was me," she said, breaking the quiet.

River flicked her face with one finger. "Oh, hush up, you."

“You saw my sonic!”

“It looks different now!”

“Yaz called me Doctor!”

“It could have been just a title!”

“I introduced myself as Smith! You _know_ I always call myself Smith!”

“I know, I know.” River sighed. “I just wasn’t expecting you to be . . .well. . . ” She gestured toward her breasts, quirking a brow.

“I know.” The Doctor cracked a smile. “How’s that for an upgrade? Eugh. Never mind. I don’t like that word. How’s that for an _improvement_?”

“Well, I don’t know yet,” said River, with that trademark little smirk of hers.

The Doctor fought a blush. “But really. I made it so obvious. I was sure you knew.”

“I _did_ know,” River. “You made me doubt it, but I did know. It’s just . . .” She hesitated. “It was . . . Difficult.”

“Difficult how?’ The Doctor leaned against the TARDIS console. She frowned, reaching out to take River’s hand in her own. “Does this—does me being a woman change anything between us?”

“Oh, sweetie.” River laughed, squeezing her hand and tangling their fingers together. “Of course not. But a new you, a new Doctor, that meant . . . you’d died. And I wasn’t ready to face that.”

The Doctor held her tongue. Twice. She’d died twice since River had seen her last, but only once since _she’d_ seen _River_ . . .

“I’m sorry,” she said instead.

River squeezed her hand again, leaned in so that their bodies aligned. Hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee. “For what?” Her breath ghosted across the Doctor’s neck.

She shook her head. “For not telling you. You were so angry.”

“Oh, I still am.” River grinned. “I’m _very_ angry. But—”

“But?”

“You’re the Doctor. You might change, but in your core, you’re the same. I said I didn’t know you. But that’s not true. A part of me will always know a part of you. I knew you had your reasons for not telling me—not that I’m any less angry about that. But Rule Number One. . .”

“The Doctor lies,” she finished. “River, I—”

“You’re sorry. I know.” Her mouth tilted upwards. “And I forgive you.”

They were so close, they’d be kissing if she tilted her head. Butbefore she could, River tipped her chin down and their lips melded together, and the whole world went blissfully, rapturously silent.

. . . This.

This was nothing like their sweet, chaste kisses from before. This was . . . _fire_. The Doctor groaned as River’s lips parted, deepening the kiss, her hands sliding between their bodies and roaming beneathh the hem of the Doctor’s shirt.

She pressed the Doctor against the TARDIS console, and they let the heat of the moment sweep over them.

“River?’ the Doctor whispered much later, when they were lying on the TARDIS floor, limbs tangled together, both flushed and disheveled and considerably less clothed.

“Mm?”

“I love you.”

“Mmm. Love you too, sweetie.”

And everything was — for a moment, for this one infinitesimal, ridiculous, beautiful moment —all right.

**Author's Note:**

> Annnnnd . . . the end.  
> Thank you all for your support! If you liked my story, please do me the favor of checking out the companion work to this one, "Bill and Heather's Gay Space Odyssey," which I've just started.  
> Cheers,  
> Til


End file.
